Beef Stick Queen

Righteous Felon O.G. Hickory Beef Stick

01 December 2025

Two years ago, I became a home owner, and in that time, I have not particularly taken to home ownership and the maintenance it requires. TikTok appears to have picked up on this fact, filling my algorithm with contractors spanning the ages, measurable by how tattooed their arms may be. Part of me wonders if that has to do with that axe guy that keeps appearing in my feed, bearing in mind the fact I don’t even own one axe, let alone enough to warrant being shown reviews.

All this is to say that I fear my house is going to go up in flame due to the sworn enemy of linen and toes: lint. Everyday I’m seeing a new guy cleaning his dryer vent, attaching a drill to a brush, and putting their own spin on it. Seeing as it never really crossed my mind to do this (I clean my lint trap after each load, thank you very much), I figured I would take a look. Two weeks prior I replaced my furnace filter and felt like flying afterward, so who knows what wonders could wait me.

This is when I realized my vent wasn’t even fully connected and was just blowing freely into my basement. Should I have recognized this when I started to realize the top of my dryer was slowly getting covered in lint? Sure. But that was then and this is now, so there’s no point in dwelling.

Fancy meeting you here.

Earlier today I got a screamin’ deal on a shop vac at Ace Hardware courtesy of a sale, Ace Rewards membership, and an additional $10 voucher (this is not an ad). Together, we made our way to the basement to tackle the task at hand. I also purchased one of those brush kits for this very reason but I’d already gotten in a fight with a metal shelf earlier today and assuming I’ve just been unloading lint into the subterranean aether, I decided we’re just putting this shit back together. Was it satisfying? No. Do I feel accomplished? Not really. Are there significantly less cobwebs in the cellar? Sure are!

This is what tepid satisfaction looks like.

Righteous Felon Craft Jerky O.G. Hickory Savory and Smoky Beef Stick

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Before I made my way downstairs, I took in the bowl of beef sticks currently sitting on my dining room table. I have long told about how food is my favorite gift (3 pounds of smoked fish, a cooler of venison, housewarming ribeyes, Survivor snacks) and a first date brought me a bevy of beef sticks. I had eaten one prior–a flavor other than original–and thought there no better way to prepare for my dryer drive by than a touch of protein with limited sugar.

Looks like savings to me

First thing’s first: the name of this stick is too fucking long. You might argue there’s a brand, a flavor name, and a product description, and you’d be right, but it’s still too many words that should be cut in half. Don’t get me started on the American Horror Story font featured in the logo (yes, I know it’s a classic art deco font, but it’s 2025 and in today’s day and age, history means nothing). But this isn’t a branding blog, it’s pure beef sticks, baby, so let’s get to what matters.

Don’t the paleo people have enough already?

RF clearly thinks highly of its customers. Featuring an ez-peel style packaging, it does not call attention to it on the front, and I appreciate they assume their buyers can figure out the mechanics without a struggle. Upon opening, a classic beefy scent hits the air, but the stick sure does look slick. That’s not really going to give me any pause, but its smooth appearance separates it from the more wrinkled, longer cured varieties.

Even meat sticks get a little better with age.

At first bite, I get no snap. The ingredients assure me the casing is collagen but it isn’t entirely cohesive with the stick itself. Flavorwise, it’s smoky, but not TOO smoky which is a very real thing for a different time. The ingredients tell me there is cherry and ground clove involved, very oh-la-la, but I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that without reading.

The biggest shock to me was how dry the final product is. Based on what I saw when opening the packaging, I was expecting a fatty little treat and instead it was not that. The front of the packages waxes poetic with “no” claims and “100% beef raised with no antibiotics and no hormones,” which, sure. 9g of protein is standard for a stick this size and 1g sugar is a clever way of saying, “no Slim Jims here, brother” Overall, it was fine. I didn’t love it, but I wasn’t offended, and I duct-taped my duct back together with no hanger. I preferred the Habanero variety I had last week, but ultimately this was inoffensive, decently flavored, and served its purpose. That goes to say: I feel as strongly about this beef stick as I feel about owning a house which is not very strong at all.
Old World Meats Original Snack Stick

06 August 2025

I’ve been feeling uninteresting as of late and like all the listless of a certain age, the yearn to retain my youth calls from the distance.

I was looking back at old posts featuring such a different phase of life but also the same friends who just celebrated turning forty. Then I see The Sandman comic laying open on the table in my old smoking porch while Season 2 of the adapted show slaps me in the face from the Netflix home screen, and I have to spiral into moral quandary over another bad man ruining the very art that made the truth not so hard to believe once revealed. Maybe moving forward isn’t always the worst.

I went to Costco and bought a honkin’ cutting board that is too big for me to store but features a juice groove so we will make it work. It’s made of teak, which is also the type of tub I one day dream of owning and incidentally calls to mind seeing toilets at Costco and subsequently learning I can, in fact, buy the pink toilet of my dreams, produced by none other than Sheboygan, Wisconsin-based toilet purveyor, Kohler.

Meet me at the toilet wall

Back to the chicken. Well, the Costco chicken, that is. Hard to pass up at $4.99, I had to have one to hang upon the hook incorporated into the cart’s design for this very purpose. I have come to describe this chicken as “flavorless” which may be off-putting for some, but for me it is but a canvas. A beautiful canvas that is breached by some curious fingers angling for a taste while hovering over the sink.

Look at that teak. Look at it!

Old World Meats Original Snack Stick

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Ratings are based arbitrarily on appearance, experience, texture and taste with occasional influence from what I perceive to be a screamin’ deal.

I came upon the Old World Meats Snack Stick in a domed convenience store on the edge of Bayfield, WI during a downpour. Unimpressed with most of the offerings, I felt obligated to make a purchase and chose a stick from close in proximity.

I visited the Largest Twine Ball Made by One Man earlier this summer. It was very exciting.

The stick itself was the common red of many such treats and suggests, at the very least, an aggressively average offering. At first bite, the Old world Meats entrant elicits a nice collagen dependent “snap” that only comes from a natural casing. The following meaty texture is consistent with what I would have expected following the gentle resistance—not overly coarse but also not smooth, as is Slim Jim.

No mush here, pals.

Tastewise, it’s inoffensive. Mildly peppery, it features a relatively gentle spice that’s followed by a hint of sweetness and a slight fattiness from the beef and pork combo. It’s good, but there’s something missing. Probably MSG, which is not featured in its short and readable ingredients list.

The packaging design itself is very old world, less the EZ Peel wrap that I am very much a fan of. Brown and gold are a fitting color palette from a smaller brand based out of Duluth, MN and reflects the good experience I won’t be thinking much about until I spot these sticks in the wild again sometime.

Would you believe me if I told you this manicure is over three weeks old?

I’m watching the first episode of Friends and suspect Ross’s hair gel foreshadowed the fragile masculinity that freed him to interfere with a future in Paris. The Ted Mosbys and other soppy sacks that filled our screens with crispy locks, evasive posture, and terrible sartorial choices supplanted any notion of charm with a sulphuric shrug. That’s not to say the Old World Meats Original Snack Stick is the Xander Harris of beef stick good guy-edness, but I would have another one of these over accepting a date with one of them, one hundred percent of the time.
Slim Jim Tabasco Seasoned Giant Slim

12 March 2016
As winter comes to a close and spring quickly approaches, I realized something about myself that shook me to the core: I don’t eat salty meat snacks when the temperature dips below 30°. You’re probably thinking, “Well, that’s fucking weird,” but I have a great explanation. And that explanation is gravy.

Skip the roast and spoon delicious meat juice directly into mouth.

Right after my birthday, Thanksgiving hits, and I’m hooked. Goodbye jerky, goodbye snack sticks, and HELLO pork roast. Or beef roast. Or roast chicken. Or one of those tan jars of Heinz gravy if you’re jonesin’ bad and need a fix.

The internet reads me like a book.

So, I’ve been off my game and enjoying meats of a different variety. But then, one day, the sun came out. I went to my local Holiday to get gas and a tasty bev, and lo and behold, there in front of me, shimmering in the sunshine’s light, was a sign advertising, “2/$2 Slim Jim Snack Sticks.” I fell to my knees (okay, it didn’t go that far but I did say, “Oh hell yeah” in my head). I purchased them, and they sat in my car for a week. A WEEK. And then I received a sign from my may-or-may-not-be-dead friend Andy.

This is in no way proves that he is alive. Only that someone has access to his computer.

And so, here we are. Back again and ready to preserve my insides in the interest of salty snacking and freedom.
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**This, and all future reviews, will be HEAVILY influenced by my mood and hunger status at time of review.**

Safety first, boys.

Slim Jim Tabasco Seasoned Giant Slim: 2.75/5

Remember, I’m going on a 5-point scale, with scored determined based on an average of:
- Appearance
- Experience
- Taste
- Texture
- Price (which only really matters when I find it to be a Screamin’ Deal, ©Beth Wogen)
I’ve never been super excited about the prospect of the Tabasco Seasoned Slim Jim. I like Tabasco, and I like Slim Jims, but I’ve never really thought that the combination of the two would complete my snacking life. Tabasco seems to be one of those brands that is willing to lend its logo to any number of suggested partnerships. (See: Tabasco Cheez-Its and Grey Tabasco Lounge Pants). Tabasco Cheez-Its aren’t even that great and, let’s be honest, Tabasco’s offshoots like Chipotle and Green Jalapeño are simply better than the Original. But a beef stick is a beef stick, and it simply must be eaten.

After work, I got down to the task at hand. I nibbled a bit on some ham—as to not be too hungry—at the behest of my cat. That, combined with the Slim Jim, could conceivably combine to create a cohesive meal, right? Opening the stick was a familiar experience that has improved with time. Ever since they gave up on the jagged tear notches at the top and switched to the peel apart packaging, the Slim Jim experience has infinitely improved. Struggling with accessing a beef stick really sticks in my craw, and I end up with feverish meat sweats out of frustration. Extra points to Slim Jim.

Now, Slim Jims, we can all agree, are not the top dog of the beef stick kingdom. They are greasy as all hell, and the lube job left behind is not intended for intimate endeavors. Once you get the stick out, you can see that the package is left slick, and so, too, was the box I took a picture of it on. A beef stick is meant to be a portable stick. If you need a wet nap afterwards, it is not an effectively portable option.

Exhibit A: Grease Stains

As for Tabasco flavor, the Tabasco Seasoned Slim Jim kind of has it. Or at least it took a cue from the “hot sauce” distinction, because I’m not getting much of a Tabasco taste here. There’s an initial kick that gets you, but none of the familiar vinegar pucker that makes Tabasco what it is. The rest of the beef stick itself just tastes like a regular old Slim Jim, and the only thing that sticks in your memory is the lingering spice on your breath that feels like you’re going to pay for it later.

Biting into the stick is exactly what is expected from a Slim Jim. It’s both tough and soft at the same time, and I found myself wanting to chew harder than is necessary. There’s no snap, but there is a noticeable firmness coming from the casing. As you bite into it, the casing doesn’t so much break, but rather allows the beef stick innards to somewhat ooze into your mouth—like soft serve!—until you have no choice but to pinch it off with your teeth. Once you’ve gone this far, you’re just chewing and chewing and chewing while the casing gets stuck in between your teeth, and you can’t be sure if you’re flossing or saving some for later.

No matter how you feel about Slim Jims, the 2/$2 price tag is a certified Screamin’ Deal, and I will almost always, ALWAYS be swayed by the sweet signage selling discounted sticks.

Overall, I give the Slim Jim Tabasco Seasoned Giant Slim a 2.75/5. It’s certainly not the worst flavored stick available on the market, but if a Slim Jim were to be sent into battle, I wouldn’t send the Tabasco to the frontline.

Why yes, this is the back of a Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready pizza box.

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*Side note: Supposedly-not-dead Andrew and his brother Erik have a podcast. Take a listen and try to determine if Andy is, in fact, alive or if Erik is just extremely gifted at imitation.
Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot Pickled Sausage

07 October 2015
Two weeks ago, I decided to paint my new kitchen sea-foam green and called over my friend Amanda to help. I requested she only bring one thing with her: a beef stick of her choosing from a convenience store. Leaving this choice up to another individual is a bold move, with high chances of disappointment or disgust. Amanda, always the one to go big or go home, delivered on the latter. Walking into my home with three bottles of wine and the remnants of a fancy cheese plate, she pulled from the depths of her pockets a Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot Pickled Sausage. These things have terrified the shit out of me nearly every time I have encountered them and now, with one in my home, the time had come to face my fears. But not quite yet.

There was work to be done.

Armed with a paint roller in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, I hit the walls. We taped, we trimmed, we drew dicks on the walls; all in all, a typical painting experience. By the time we cracked open the second bottle of wine, Joe was outside cooking souvlaki on our gas-cum-charcoal grill, a first coat of paint was nearly on the walls, and I had kicked the gallon of paint all over the kitchen floor (which Amanda, both artfully and with authority, deftly cleaned up with some wash cloths and a cookie sheet, with surprisingly little waste). I was feeling bold, but not brazen enough for this Giant Fire Cracker. Not quite yet.

We started, some people came over, they left, and we wrapped up around 4am. THANX WINE.

By the end of the painting endeavor, no pickled sausage had been eaten. I just couldn’t do it. So, I put it on a shelf in my direct line of eyesight, and let it lay. Pickling even further, the Giant Fire Cracker was to stay on that shelf, watching me, for two more weeks…until Amanda’s birthday. With friends in tow and emotional supports in place, I gave Amanda the greatest gift that I had to give: my eating of the Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot Pickled Sausage.

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**This, and all future reviews, will be HEAVILY influenced by my mood and hunger status at time of review.**

Fear, as I know it.

Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot Pickled Sausage

Rating: 0.5 out of 5.

Remember, I’m going on a 5-point scale, with scored determined based on an average of:
- Appearance
- Experience
- Taste
- Texture
- Price (which only really matters when I find it to be a Screamin’ Deal, ©Beth Wogen)
I have never not wanted to eat a meat stick as much as this one. For starters, it’s described as a pickled sausage, which I had always just imagined as what happens when a dude has been sitting in the bathtub for WAY too long. Sausages like these have long been relegated to the sides of the meat stick end caps, displayed in small boxes. They’re usually sitting on the shelf as an afterthought, hidden behind the bags of Jack Links jerky hanging all willy-nilly from the corners. Never have I seen one purchased, and never have I heard of one being consumed.

At the package’s first tear, a sour, vinegary scent quickly took hold of the room. Nose hairs recoiled in terror; eyebrows furrowed in fear; heads turned and gasped for sweet, fresh air. Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot Pickled Sausages are sent to market with a little bit of pickling fluid surrounding them and, if you’re lucky, a little bit will spill out onto the table so that the scent will linger long after eating.

The “Red Hot” of its name must be attributed to the pale, brick color of the sausage. Sporting a slippery sheen, the skin resembles not the color of a naturally occurring food item but rather reflects the hue of the reconstituted meats within its casing. A wet feel calls to mind the 5-pack of hot dogs in the bottom of your fridge, with which it also shares a resounding resemblance. Unlike the Tillamook and Klement’s sticks, the ends of the Fire Cracker Giant Ret Hot appear to be largely the work of a machine, where each sausage is produced singly, not as a member of a link. The tips are puckered with uniform folds which, when combined with the smooth skin, causes one to realize that this is less of a casing and more the product of a sausage mold. Can’t wait.

It tastes THIS good.

Why THE FUCK does this thing even exist? As a frequent eater of items that taste way better than they smell (here’s looking at you, fish sauce), I was really hoping that the Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot was going to turn it around. It did not. Imagine a hot dog that has been fermenting for some time, a vinegary upswing that tickles the tongue, and a soft and mushy mouthfeel. Its muted, waterlogged flavor delivers the taste buds a disastrous dance around the mechanically separated bits of beef, chicken, and pork within, somehow allowing for both the experience of its parts AND its whole, all at the same time. There’s no heat to this thing. No “red hot.” No “fire cracker.” No “thank god this is burning the hell out of my mouth so at least I can’t taste it.”

Since this dog food monstrosity was purchased for me by Amanda, I have no comments on its value other than any penny you spend on a Fire Cracker Giant Ret Hot would be better off thrown directly into the toilet.

Overall, I have rated the Fire Cracker Giant Red Hot Picked Sausage a 0.5/5. While it most certainly deserves a solid zero, I give it a 0.5 bump because I expected a memorable experience and godDAMN did it deliver. Never again will I look at the pickled sausages at the store with a childlike sense of wonder and think, “What could that possibly taste like?” because I know. I know the true horrors within that packaging. I know the smell of the fluid within. And I know that, after only two bites, some beef sticks are best left on the shelf.

I did not succeed, and I did not try, try again.
Klement’s Beef Snack Stick

15 September 2015
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been moving from my room in the upper unit of a duplex to the floor below. The entire move could have been completed in two hours, but I’ve extended it into a luxurious, month long process.

Relocation did not start off great with a poorly timed illness that kept me home from work for two days. Conveniently coinciding with the week of the Minnesota State Fair, I was convinced that cuddling with my cat would be the best defense so that I could consume all of the on-a-stick delights the Fair has to offer. By week’s end, I was tasting again and ready to rock-and-roll with Sudafed reinforcements. However, with 90-degree temperatures, high humidity, and a body incapable of regulating heat, I ended up puking around the fairgrounds and hanging out in the medic building. I still made it 13 hours, but no gourmet-caliber Fair jerky crossed my lips.

I looked banging, though.

Upon recovery, I got a good portion of my shit downstairs and learned that the two ladies that had been living in my new home had a fondness for stagnant air. When entering my home, my senses drifted away with the captivating odor of milk, accented with just a hint of animal. I found four different windows that still contained some insulation that had been stuffing the windows in vain since last winter, with the rest being securely locked. Though the pink foam was lovingly cut to fit each window, HOW THE HELL DO YOU MAKE IT THROUGH SPRING WITHOUT CRACKING A SINGLE WINDOW?! With due diligence, I moved the cat in, lit some incense, and made a pork shoulder, letting the delicious meat scents permeate the creamy stronghold with great victory. My war continues, but the battle was delicious.

In the middle of all of this, I have purchased no less than six Klement’s Beef Snack Sticks and devoured them with the meaningful intent to review, each with a story behind them. They were eaten in moments of great hunger and replenished for 2/$1.19 at my local Holiday three times now with no review forthcoming. Thankfully, I got down to business the other day, eating my beef stick in secret while Joe puttered in the yard.

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**This, and all future reviews, will be HEAVILY influenced by my mood and hunger status at time of review.**

Beef stick consumption station

Klement’s Beef Snack Stick

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Again, with ratings, I’m going on a 5-point scale, with scored determined based on an average of:
- Appearance
- Experience
- Taste
- Texture
- Price (which only really matters when I find it to be a Screamin’ Deal, ©Beth Wogen)
To preface, I already have some hometown favor towards Klement’s. Based out of my hometown of Milwaukee, WI, I’ve been eating their products since I was a wee child (barring the 10 year, vegetarian dark period). Last time I visited my parents, the old man opened opened their freezer, and my eyes glistened upon seeing a box full of Klement’s Original Snack Sticks just waiting to enter my tummy. He’d picked them up from the Klement’s factory, which I can only imagine is a Willy Wonka-esque playground of summer sausage and bratwurst, stacked from floor to ceiling, with the Racing Sausages milling about, ready to introduce you to their namesake brethren. Sure, they were purchased just a day or two short of expiration, but we’re talking cured meat here and the inevitable can be postponed simply, with zero degree temperatures. Maybe smell before eating, just in case.

Get in my belly, boys.

For appearance’s sake, I like the look of this stick. Like the Tillamook before, it has the cinched ends which alludes to prior linkage with it’s beef stick buddies before packaging. Rather than being dried, it has a taut skin and the stick is more like fresh sausage than a salami. Pull it out of the package, and there’s greasy sheen on the skin that leaves behind a lingering essence on the clear plastic. Short, vein-like flecks sprinkle the skin, which could be off-putting to others, though I find them to be a delightful endorsement of a natural casing.

As the name implies, this variety of Klement’s stick is all beef. When I first bought one of these with the intention of blogging about it, I was at a BP in Uptown and needed something to get me home. I put it up on the counter, and the guy ringing me up had the sound endorsement of, “That’s a pretty good gas station beef stick. There’s no MSG!” While the MSG-factor is a non-issue to me, I appreciated his excitement of my purchase. Past that, the ingredient deck is even smaller than the Tillamook Country Smoker, and I can still pronounce everything!

Now, my eating experience was greatly enhanced by eating it in secret, because I’m selfish and didn’t want to share with Joe. Earlier in the day, I had had an encounter with an off-her-rocker lady in Target, who, while wheeling her bike around the store, told me she had a good vocabulary and asked if she could pull off blue hair. We moved on to Home Depot, which apparently was solely populated with Walmart shoppers, as absolutely no one was familiar with the concept of spacial awareness. There were carts strewn about all willy-nilly throughout the aisles because Jim and Tim just happened to run into each other and had to mark the occasion by road blocking my access to the toilet seats. Then we ran into a street festival on the way to the bank, so by the time I got home I was agitated and famished. Joe went outside, and finally, I was able to find solace by Klement’s hands.

My mouth watered fiercely when I grabbed the stick from my purse, and it did not disappoint. Biting in while sitting at the table on our sun porch, I was met with just a little resistance, a snap, and then sweet, sweet reverie. While mild in flavor, there’s a good balance of spices that amount to a full and salty mouth experience. This stick’s texture is very pleasing on the teeth, as well; after the initial snap is a soft, meaty texture that’s in the family of a well made hot link.

Price-wise, this qualifies as a “Screamin’ Deal.” Found predominantly at Holidays in my neighborhood, you can pick them up at the aforementioned 2/$1.19. With the option to mix-up flavors, it’s a bargain that is too good to pass up.

Overall, I am a Klement’s Beef Stick fan. Frequently, they make it into my purse on the way to band practice, and I’ve never been let down by one of these little guys. As a mass-produced offering, I’m always pleasantly surprised by how fresh they seem to be, even while being stored on a convenience store counter. Though not my favorite Klement’s flavor, it’s a solid #2, and Klement’s Beef Sticks will remain as one of my go-to impulse purchases at my local gas station.
Tillamook Country Smoker Beef Stick

22 August 2015
One thing my friends know about me is that I love cured meat. All meat, actually, but salted animal flesh in particular calls to me. On a typical night out, my go-to prep is a beef stick and a Sugarfree Red Bull. Call me crazy, but I’ll be the one laughing when you’re weakened by your low-protein snack choices and sugar crash.

So, friends, I offer you completely biased reviews of any beef stick/jerky that I can get my grubby little hands on. And I’m going to tell you how they stack up. Not who has the best coupons. Not which stick will look best on my mantle. But which one gets into my guts and makes my gastric juices gush. Ew.

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First up, Tillamook Country Smoker Beef Sticks.

Effortlessly cool.

As a convenience store beef stick connoisseur, I’ve sampled many over the past years and Tillamook Country Smoker is no stranger. Often sold in the pick-your-own containers by a gas station entrance, I happened upon this 20-count number on a trip to Fleet Farm.

We had to make a stop for fishing licenses and heavy duty gloves because my boyfriend was taking me to Lake Mille Lacs to trap crayfish; we were unsure of what my level of involvement would be in this endeavor, but might as well be prepared. I’ve always had a fondness for Fleet Farm stemming from trips with my old man when I was a kid. We’d always pick up a one-pound bag of Twizzlers and sometimes some jerky (before my ill-advised, ten year stint as a vegetarian), and snack on the way home. So, in the interest of tradition, I picked up a bag of Twizzlers and this can of sticks (along with a license, gloves, a snorkel, and some Tater Skins). Ready to rock-n-roll.

Party.

We make it to Mille Lacs an hour and a half later with snacks, traps, and Budweiser in tow and scamper down to the spot. Under no conditions can I reveal this spot, but I can tell you that there was no poison ivy this year. I settle on a rock, Joe gets comfortable in his socks, and business begins. There’s a lot of prep that goes into setting up the traps, but mostly I remember that the chicken wire WILL puncture aluminum, and you’ll end up drinking that Budweiser like a shotgunned beer that’s been bit by a very small viper. After a mild coaxing through algae ridden water and over zebra musseled rocks, I took a swim for a bit, tried to visit with a duck (she wasn’t into it) and stood with my head high as I watched two eagles practice their aerial acrobatics.

With some activity under my belt, the need to feed took its turn, and I headed back to shore to sink my teeth in. Hello, my little beef stick friend. So, we begin.

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**This, and all future reviews, will be HEAVILY influenced by my mood and hunger status at time of review.**

Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool.

Tillamook Country Smoker Beef Sticks

Rating: 3 out of 5.

I’m trying to figure out how to go about ratings, but I’m going on a 5-point scale, with ratings determined based on an average of:
- Appearance
- Experience
- Taste
- Texture
- Price (which only really matters when I find it to be a Screamin’ Deal ©Beth Wogen)
Lookswise, this stick has got what I am looking for. Like one of those hanging salamis in an Italian deli, it’s been dried and its skin has a delightful wrinkle. I am somewhat biased to this look, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like a beef stick that’s taut. Rather than have its ends cut flat, Tillamook Country Smoker keeps these guys looking fresh from the link, which I appreciate. There’s just something about those puckered little tips.

The stick itself is all beef, with no other meat influences. The ingredient list is relatively small, and I can pronounce everything; if I don’t know what it is, I’m pretty sure it can be explained by the curing process. My little friend MSG is in there, too. Now, monosodium glutamate has a bad rap, and if your denying yourself because of an MSG-sensitivity, you don’t know how to live. I’m not saying it doesn’t exist, but just maybe it’s not the MSG that’s making you feel bad, but the fact you just shoved a full quart of shrimp fried rice into your gullet.

Obviously, the eating experience was influenced by the warm sun, well placed rocks, beer, and a cute boy to my right. I’ve been over this, so we’ll go right to what really matters.

Tillamook Country Smoker makes a pretty decent beef stick to be sold in a 20-count container for $9.89 at my local Fleet Farm. It’s got a good, meaty taste that’s more in the local farm style of stick rather than your average mass-produced 2/$1.50 variety. Spice-wise, I find it rather mild with a hint of sweetness, but nothing near cloying. Biting into it, you get a good resistance, but the skin doesn’t snap when you take a good gnaw.

In general, I wish this stick had a larger flavor. It’s pleasant when it hits the lips, but forgettable once swallowed. There is no lasting greasy aftertaste, which is a plus, but I’m a little put off by the oxygen absorbing packet that comes in the container with the sticks–just like a new pair of shoes! I understand the point of it (thank you, mold inhibitor), and if you’re feeling a little down on yourself for buying twenty beef sticks at a time, it’s nice to know that Tillamook Country Smoker has the faith that you’ll have them around long enough to necessitate such a packet. I mean, they’re wrong, but I appreciate the benefit of the doubt.

Overall, I’ve given the Tillamook Country Smoker beef stick a 3.5/5 rating. It’s not remarkable, but it certainly isn’t the worst stick in the world, and I allowed for 0.5 point bump due to the $0.50/stick price. Ultimately, this stick has set a pretty solid middle-of-the-road standard; it’s only up (or down) from here.